Stargazer
by PJOteens
Summary: Peeta is a foster child. Katniss is a free-willed, stubborn, and independent teenager. However, when Peeta is assigned to his new foster family, the Everdeens, he unexpectedly finds himself falling for her. Modern AU.
1. Peeta

**I do not own any of the Hunger Games characters owned by Suzanne Collins.**

**This story is based around an orphaned Peeta Mellark.**

**Each District serves as a sort of capital city in the country of Panem, which is the United States in a post-war era. **

**District Twelve is not unlike the others- in this story, Katniss's family is not poor, nor is the city. They are a middle class family living outside of the city.**

**Enjoy!**

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**STARGAZER**

Mrs. Trinket has always been kind of a prick, but for some reason I've always had a soft spot for her. With her tightly curled bleach-blond hair and bright red lipstick that's always leaking into the folds around her lips, she looks like one of those women who try to look younger than they actually are.

"Peeta," she says in her quivering, singsongy voice. I sigh and turn to glance at her, my fingers dragging across my face. My pointer finds a stray, single pimple right at the edge of my hairline that's been bothering me all day. My eyes trail her pale blue ones as they follow a bright red convertible that zooms by us with a rusty groan.

My nose stings with peppermint— my gum, which is beginning to lose its flavor. Each shuddering breath is a cool one, and I sniffle a few times. I don't want Mrs. Trinket to have the satisfaction of knowing that I'm nervous for this family.

_This family._ I nod to myself silently and turn my head heavily back to the window. My eyes self-consciously flicker to the rear view mirror, which is smudged with some leftover morning dew. A teenaged boy, his mouth twisted with nerves against a gray morning backdrop, stares back solemnly. I breathe out through my minty nose and swallow hard.

_This family._ I'd seen pictures of them in the folder I'd received a few weeks ago.

A mom. Pretty. The type of woman who must have been beautiful when she was younger. Tan skin. Dark hair. I think her name is Rosette.

A young daughter. Primrose. She had a missing front tooth, and she was eleven. Long, shiny blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She's blessed with beautiful eyes, like I am. My hair isn't as light as hers, though.

And a daughter. Katniss. I can't forget her name. Nor her picture. My heart speeds up in the car right now just thinking of her picture. Long, dark hair. Unlike her sister, she had gray eyes in the photo. They seemed to drift off, away from the camera. Lost in thought, maybe. The ends of her hair were what had caught my eye. They were dyed a bright blue. Not some sloppy dip-dye job like I had seen other girls do in the other cities. This looked like an even dye; one she had spent time on. The look on her face wasn't bored, nor was it some sort of discontent. She just had looked calm. Beautiful. Stunning, even. She didn't have the high cheekbones from her mother, so she must have gotten her looks from her father. She was just… Just.

My eyes wander along the dashboard as I think about this family. They seemed happy. That's a plus. Some of the other families I've stayed with have been at worse terms than this one seems to be at.

My gum has lost its flavor. I want to spit it out, by I know how Mrs. Trinket feels about me throwing trash around in her car. I can just see her red lips pursed together in disapproval in my mind. _Trash is for the cans, not the cars, Peeta._

"Peeta." It's Mrs. Trinket again. I snap out of my daydreams, remembering how she had addressed me before.

"Sorry, Mrs. Trinket," I try politely. Mrs. Trinket just purses her folded lips together into a straight line and stares straight ahead at the road.

"It's alright, dear." She's drifted off to focus on the road, but I know she wants to say something. Maybe it's about the family. My thoughts drift back to the girl. Katniss. "Peeta," Mrs. Trinket begins. I pause to listen. "I want you to be on your best behavior. This is a nice city. Nicer than the last." Right. Some dump in District 4 where I was teased and I broke a kid's arm. Nice memories there. "And the parents aren't in the middle of divorcing." Uh-huh. Like District 7. That was a lovely experience.

"I know," I tell Mrs. Trinket, and she glances over, if only for a moment, surprised.

"You read the folder this time?" she asks, like it's a huge accomplishment for me. I almost roll my eyes.

"I always read the folders," I tell her quietly, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed for no reason. I can just see the corners of her mouth twitching. Her eyes are still glued to the road, but they flicker to me once or twice. Maybe she's suspicious about my interest in this family. Hopefully she isn't one to comment on beautiful members.

"You'll like it there, Peeta," she tells me, as if it's some huge secret. It's a stolen moment of pity for me. She's even leaning over toward me slightly. "I promise. It's a nice city and it has a good school. They're fantastic people." Her pin curls are bouncing, the wrinkles around her eyes visible now that she's smiling a little.

"Alright," I manage. I still feel a little unsure. My gum is making my mouth taste bitter. The trees seem to blur together as I glance back out the window. My head rests on my hand again. Please don't be the same old town. Please don't be like that. Maybe this time, if I tried, I could have a nice life. Maybe I could be happy.

…

I can feel the car slowing down. Mrs. Trinket is getting more anxious, her manicured fingers beginning to tap the black leather of the steering wheel. Her tan Highlander lets off a steady whirring sound as she slows at a red light. I stir a little, paying more attention to the city around me.

District 12. We had entered the city from the southeast, according to the small compass on the rearview mirror. The suburban and rural trails began to turn into skyscrapers around ten minutes ago. I sigh and glance outside at the cafes lining the streets. Maybe I'd get to see the buildings that were on the postcards. The old mining shafts or something.

"Peeta," Mrs. Trinket says suddenly, breaking my silence. She always addresses me by saying my first name before everything. It's like a sort of warning. "Ten minutes. They live a little outside of the city."

I don't reply, but I let her know that I've heard. My gum is beginning to separate, so I open the glove compartment to look for a napkin or something. I find one in the little boxy storage thing between the two front seats. I spit out my gum and lean back toward the window. Buildings pass by. People whisk around in a blur. It's just about the end of summer, so while some teens are wearing shorts out, others are donning their coats for the brisk fall.

Mrs. Trinket grows increasingly more nervous as we near the edge of the city. The house is only a few minutes away, and I can sense the tension in the car. Maybe this time. Maybe this time.

Twelve. That's how many houses I've lived in over the last (almost complete now) two years. That's how many families I've had to bear living with. Seven is the number of different major cities I now despise.

My name is Peeta Mellark. My parents, who were bakers, died in a car crash the summer before my sophomore year of high school. Just to get it out of the way. Tragic, yes? I still think so. I loved them. I looked up to them.

Life had been hell from then on out. City after city, it was rough. Some families had issues. Massive issues. Some were alright, but it usually was either the people or the schools that got to me. I've been called everything. Every insult people can possibly throw at me: from "gay" to "fag," I've heard everything. I've even heard someone recite a whole passage from _Oliver!_ I guess I haven't helped the situations.

I'm not a bad kid. I'm not "troubled" or anything. I'm just stubborn. I broke a kid's arm in District 4 when he tried to kiss my foster sister and then teased me. In my defense, she was pretty and didn't want anything to do with him. I punched an abusive father in District 6. I cried myself to sleep every night in a different part of District 6 because my foster family picked on me every single day.

Life had been hell up to this point. Now I have hope. Just a little sliver of it. Some little part of me wants to curl up and just die in a hole. The other parts tell it to shut up and think positively. Maybe I'm overthinking everything. Maybe I'm too confident. Maybe I'm wrong about this family.

Or, maybe this will be different.

"Peeta," Mrs. Trinket says, shaking me out of my daze again. I snap up with a start. I can feel a mark on my cheek where my nails have dug into my skin. My blonde, wavy hair is sticking up at the back, so I quickly push it down. "We're here."

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	2. Katniss

A boy is coming. Fantastic. Maybe he can just screw around with me like the last one did. I hated him. I hate this. Maybe I'll hate this boy.

Smoke curls from my lips, and as I breathe outwards slowly from my nose, I peer beyond the veil of smoke to inspect my tiny stub of a cigarette. Its warm red color has faded to ashy black, and I at last discard it and smash it with the toe of my boot. It leaves a halo of ashes and a smudge of white and black papery residue.

My fingernails are painted with chipped purple nail polish, which I notice as I drag them back up towards my face to brush away my hair. The blue ends are beginning to turn a sour greenish color, I notice, and I glance down at my nails momentarily. Hmm.

I shift on the cement of the low wall of the park across from my house and peer over at our familiar windows and deep brown two-story. It's dark from being soaked with light summer rain, the green curtains drawn. I know I'd be in plain sight if those curtains were pulled aside, but I wave off the thought.

I stand, finally, and make my way back towards the house. My boots squeak on lightly dewed grass, their shiny black leather glinting with wetness. Just as I'm beginning to cross the street, the door to my house swings open, startling me.

"Katniss!" It's my mother, her lips pursed in the distance. "Come inside! We have something to read from the new boy." She leaves the door open for me, but I stumble a little. Does she know that I smoke here? Of course, I'm in plain sight, but they rarely ever open the curtains this early and in this type of weather.

My boots scrape on the wooden steps and the welcome mat, which is faded with age. My arms are sore from the push-ups I do in my room in my fury to stay fit, though my archery arms are already fit and taut. I close the door behind me, and it slams rather loudly; an imperfection of our house. I wince, but then draw away from the doorway to meet my mother and Primrose, who are already seated at the dining room table.

"Hi, Katniss," Primrose grins, her partially grown-in front teeth making her _s_ sound like a _th. _I smile at her lovingly, but weakly, something stirring in my stomach. It's not that I don't like Primrose. If anything, I absolutely dote on her. I'm a little nervous for this new foster kid, and for whatever this family meeting is. They always make me uncomfortable.

"Hi, sweetie." My mom's voice is warm and familiar, and almost immediately puts me at ease, though it always has this edge to it; distant. I pull out a chair and have a seat, scooting closer to the table with jagged little jumps. My mother's kind, vacant eyes find mine. "We're just talking about the new foster child. We've already gone over how we're going to treat him—"

"With respect, kindness, and make him like our own brother!" Primrose spouts triumphantly, her blue eyes sparkling. I love her eyes. My mother chuckles softly.

"Yes, exactly. And we're going to be like his family. We've already read that he's moved around a lot in the past couple of years, and the childcare folk say that he can be a handful." I wince inwardly. Uh-oh. Please don't be like the last one, please don't be like the last one. "But, I've read over some of the folders from them, and it looks like he's a good kid with good morals. He's only fought when he's been threatened, it seems, and it's mostly the families that have been giving him trouble. We're going to make sure that this house is different from those, understood?" Her last sentence is firm, commanding, and there's a murmur of consent from all of us. Mine comes out a little lagged. I'm still unsure about this boy.

"He'll be here soon," my mom pipes up again, her cheekbones twitching at her smile. "I've found his folders for you both, so I'll just let you guys read these quickly." My mom is kind of disorganized, unlike my friend's neat, cleanliness-obsessed mothers. She holds out two thin orange packets, and I take one as Primrose strains to grab one over the table. "Go ahead and get cleaned up." We're dismissed. I stand to walk up the narrow staircase to my room behind the kitchen, almost running into the wall on the sharp turn back almost in the direction I came a floor above. I'm too immersed in the orange packet, which I'm trying to open. My blunt purple fingernails scrabble at the metal butterfly wings folded to close it.

I turn into my room and sit on my bed, the angular white walls in the edge of my vision quite bright from a little sunlight, though my soft white curtains are still drawn. My bed is comforting, its white comforter billowing up around me as I kick off my boots. They fall to the ground with a thud, clumps of wet grass decorating the white carpeting.

I almost cut myself when I pull out the few pieces of paper in the folder. I count, and there's only three. The first page has a picture of the boy and his name again, which I keep forgetting. Peeta Mellark. I kept calling him Peter. His sky blue eyes are determined in his photo, like he cares about what this photo's going to do and where it's going to go. He's not quite grinning, but the end of his lip is quirked up into a sort of half-smile. It's not an asshole grin, but warm, like he's just awkward. That comes as a relief, because the last boy had a cocky smile I always wanted to just punch off of his face. Eventually, I did.

I finger the thin pieces of paper and fall back on my bed, the release of air from the soft white pillows and comforter throwing the orange shell of a packet off of the covers. I sigh and start to read the boy's papers for us.

Q: _What is your favorite book?_

A: _To Kill a Mockingbird. _His answers are all short, I notice, and then I realize what I've read. It's rare to find a boy like him who loves the classics. I keep that in mind.

Q: _What do you like to do in your free time?_

A: _Look at the clouds. If it's nighttime, then the stars. _I almost do a double take on this one to read it again. _Peeta, who are you?_ I wonder absentmindedly, my eyes trailing back to his picture. What kind of boy liked to look at the clouds in his free time? Most of the boys I know would be with their girlfriends, or with other boys.

Q: _What do you love about new cities you go to?_

A: _I don't love new cities, usually. I've ended up hating the last couple. My families have been screw-ups. _I flinch as I think of Primrose, who may be reading the same packet. Did she have a different one?

Q: _What are your hopes for the future?_

A: _I hope this family will be different. _Different? I remember my mother's words about how his other families had treated him horribly. But why? I needed to stay a little cautious about this boy— he seemed a little strange, but at the same time, I'm curious.

I sit up quickly, remembering that the boy would be here soon. I stare at my reflection in the sliding mirror doors. My long, dark hair trails past my chest and almost to my elbows. It's not quite wavy, but not quite pin-straight— its old layers make it look just a little messy. I stare at my reflection.

I'm tan— not from sun, though it helps, but from my mom's genes. Native American and something else. My father was the fair-skinned one. I'm skinny— you can tell from my clothing and how it hangs off my frame— but I'm fit for my thin build. Archery and running. My black skinny jeans are ripped at the knees from when I fell last week in the woods. My Rolling Stones concert t-shirt seems to casual for the moment, my blue hair too stale-looking. I sigh, feeling self-conscious. Maybe…

I rip open the sliding doors to my closet and reach for the bottommost drawer. Packets of dye slide around as they're jostled, and I grab the one that appeals to me the most. I shake it, grab the bottle for application and make my way to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I'm done. Steam has fogged up the bathroom mirror, and my hair is wrapped in a towel. I dry myself off quickly and step out into my room. I open some of my other drawers to grab a nice white blouse and a pair of black skinny jeans. I leave my shoes off because of the tracks they would leave inside. I untwist the towel around my head and lay my damp hair around my shoulders. The purple ends looks lovely with their lavender shade and darker undertones. They contrast well with my white shirt and dark pants.

My jewelry is hung around a large, white metal mesh _A_ on top of the dresser in my closet. I grab a silver pendant that hangs down over my chest— a present from my boyfriend, Gale. His silvery-hazel eyes sweep over me now, and I feel my insides quivering. I quickly pull it over my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My dark brown eyes flicker over my top, my legs, my bare feet.

Just as I'm pulling away from the mirrors, my fingers pulling at the ends of my hair, the doorbell rings. Footsteps approach my room. I pull back from my closet just as my mom sticks her head in the door. She pauses for a moment, her dark eyes fluttering over the tips of my hair. She doesn't say anything about it, but she smiles.

"They're here." She's all gray streaks and dark hair swirling as she turns from the door, the warmth of her smile following her.

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	3. Threats

_Peeta_

My hands are frozen in front of the dark wooden door to the Everdeens' house. I had just ceased knocking, but my nerves make me want to bark. Mrs. Trinket motions for me to move my hand, but it's frozen. My legs are quivering.

"Peeta—" she starts, but the door swings open. We both jump, Mrs. Trinket releasing a small gasp. In front of us stands the mother in a freshly pressed blue blouse and jeans. She has a warm smile and older eyes that crinkle when she's grinning. Her face looks tired, but it's light now.

"Hi!" She sounds friendly. "You must be Peeta…" Her voice trails off as she extends a hand to me. Her eyes flicker over my body, soaking up what I look like. "My, aren't you a handsome boy?" I feel myself blushing, and I shift uncomfortably, awkwardly.

"Is he here?" pipes up a small voice behind the woman. The mother steps aside to smile down at a little blond girl in pigtails. She immediately blushes upon noticing that I'm standing right in front of her. "Oh," she squeaks, reaching out to shake my hand. Her own almost disappears in my palm, it's so small. She shrinks back to the corner of the room, inspecting all of us with wide, blue eyes. She's pretty and petite, and reminds me off a little flower or maybe a mouse. Cute. I spin around, my mouth halfway open to ask where the other one is, but the mother just turns to the staircase, where a set of bare feet have appeared.

"Katniss." Mrs. Everdeen's voice is stern, though it's soft. And then she's there. Her presence almost fills the entire room. She doesn't appear shy, but stands with her legs pressed together, her shoulder thrust back. Her hair spills over her shoulders and down to her elbows, slightly damp. My eyes flicker over the ends, which are purple. I'm momentarily confused, because in the photo they were blue. She must change them often…

"Hello." Her voice brings me back to reality. It's slightly rusty, but soft as it speaks volumes. My eyes travel the length of her, from her pristine white blouse to the fraying edges of her black jeans. I could stare at her all day, but her solid gaze breaks me away from my daydreaming.

"Oh," I stammer as I realize she's waiting. She raises one eyebrow, twitching, above the other. Amused. I feel myself reddening. "Hi." She extends her hand in greeting, and I quickly take it. She's leaning forward, and I can see everything on her face— each imperfection that stands just right on her face: her little pale constellation of freckles just standing out around her nose. A pimple just peeking out from the top of her eyebrow. Her chapped lips. Her hand is more calloused than I expected. It's gone before I can even process anything. She's back to her uniform pose, like some sort of soldier. I'm almost shaken. The way she looks at me now is one of complete warning— _Don't you screw with me._

"We hope you'll find our house suitable," the mother says, as if I'm some superstar and not some sad little orphan with emotional issues. I smile weakly at her anyways and nod my head.

"It's lovely," I tell her, and she beams. Mrs. Trinket smiles like she's exhausted and straightens her pink plastic purse. Her red lips are stretched into a thin smile.

"Fantastic. Peeta, if anything comes up, call." She's out the door in a flash, and I can sense her relief from the house. My eyes travel shyly back to the family, who are expressing a whirlwind of different emotions.

Primrose— the little girl— is still hovering in the corner. She smiles at me like an angel, though she seems timid, still like a little mouse. Mrs. Everdeen is all vacant smiles, like she'd used them all up a long time ago. Katniss is a death stare, plain and simple. I can feel her gray eyes burning into me from the other side of the room. Why did I make her so angry? I didn't even know her.

"Thank you for having me," I offer, the words tasting a little bitter. Mrs. Everdeen nods her head, humming a _mmhmm. _More silence. Primrose steps from the corner, finally, and offers a hand to me. I pause, unsure, but I take it. A soft, but audible, sharp intake of breath is heard behind me. Katniss. What does she think I'll do, hurt her sister? It makes me want to hold Primrose's hand even more. The little girl beams up at me like I'm the best thing in the world.

"I'll show you around, Peeta," she says, and I notice her front tooth is lopsided from growing in. I feel myself smiling. She's sweet. I wish Katniss would talk to me like this brave little girl. There's a chorus of whispering behind me, followed by a small, rusty groan of defeat. Soft footsteps approach, and a dark head of hair is standing next to me, gray eyes flickering in the opposite direction. I sigh inwardly in confusion. "Don't mind her," Primrose pipes up, leading me out of the kitchen and up a skinny set of curving stairs. They turn in on themselves about halfway up. "She's quite lovely, actually. She can be quite a prissy one sometimes, though. Especially with what happened—"

"Prim!" Katniss exclaims, though her voice is soft. Primrose shrinks beside me, and my mind wanders. What had happened before? Katniss's frame relaxes and she sighs. I can feel her breath on my shoulder, and it makes it tingle a little. "Sorry, Peter." I open my mouth, but to my surprise, she's blushing. A rare moment. The color disappears after half a second as she stammers, "Peeta, sorry, God! I always mess that up." I feel myself chuckling, and she manages a small smile. I have yet to see her smile with her teeth.

Primrose tells me about the rooms and where I'll be staying in the guest bedroom. It's small, but I'm not one to complain. The walls are a light orange color, which I find lovely, and there's a nice view of the tops of trees, and in the distance I can just start to see the skyscrapers. Katniss's hand brushes mine accidentally as we exit the room. My eyes flicker to her face, but she doesn't show any signs of emotion.

Once we've finished the tour, Primrose leads us to the backyard, which is a mess of tall, green grass and jumbled wire fences against a backdrop of bright green trees. It smells like pine and dew, and I'm transfixed by the small yellow flowers and a lone, twisted oak. The whole backyard slopes downhill towards the trees slightly, and my converse squeak in the wet grass. Primrose laughs as I spin around, drinking in everything. Katniss doesn't say anything. As my eyes flicker over the fence, I notice something. Something so small that no one could really see it if they were just passing by. There's a hole, just big enough for one person to fit through, near one of the furthest posts. Maybe I could ask to patch it up if it was an inconvenience. I shake off the following thoughts and inch towards Katniss as Primrose begins to pick the scatterings of the yellow flowers.

"I like your house," I say vaguely, watching Primrose, though I'm really paying attention to the girl in the corner of my eye. She's watching Primrose, too. She doesn't say anything at first, but I see her opening her mouth after a while.

"Yeah." She's silent after that, raising her hands by her side like she's checking her fingers. I notice her nail polish is a chipping purple hue, like her hair.

"I'm sorry if I'm sudden," I blurt out, and I'm immediately embarrassed by my words. But they get her attention. Her intense gray eyes have found my face, which I feel heating up as I continue to face straight ahead. She shakes her head.

"Sudden?" I feel awkward, and I squirm a little under her gaze.

"Um…" She may be growing impatient. I'd always never been very good with words, and this time, they're failing me yet again. I sigh, running a hand through my golden locks. "I may ask questions. I like to know about my foster families. You know, so we get closer and stuff." Wow, that came out a lot more upfront than it was meant to me. Katniss shifts a little in the corner of my vision.

"Of course." Her gray eyes flicker back to Primrose, who's begun to chase a few stray dragonflies. I blink a few times.

"I don't want to offend you," I begin, and I feel her looking at me questioningly. "I really don't want to make you upset. But why are you so pissed about me being here?"

"What?" She sounds genuinely surprised, and I begin to think that maybe I'd interpreted her expressions incorrectly. She turns to face me. "Pissed?" She's as silent as I am as I try to think of some way to cover up what I've just said. "I'm just…" My head almost whips to look at her face. Her brows are furrowed, a dimple below her mouth peeking out as she bites her lip. Her lips are chapped, and I can feel everything draining out except for the picture of the corner of her tooth snagging on the skin of her lips. Her lips. I'm shaken when she speaks again. "Cautious." She doesn't say anything else, but I glance over, urging her to go on.

"Why?" I pry when she doesn't say anything. She sighs, sounding a little frustrated.

"Look." She's facing me now, Primrose forgotten. Her dark hair trails her face, tendrils brushing her forehead in tapping motions. Her gray eyes are stubborn. "The last foster kid we had here was just a handful, alright?" She turns back to Primrose. When I don't say anything, she turns back to me again, clearly aggravated. "He kissed me." She says it bluntly, like it shouldn't have happened at all. My lips part as my stomach swirls. "He knew I had a boyfriend, too." Boyfriend? What? Suddenly everything had gotten so much more complicated.

"I'm sorry," is all I can manage, but Katniss isn't done. Her eyes have turned furious.

"I didn't want you to be like him." Her voice is quieter. I feel my pulse slowing down, my eyes blinking in slow motion. Oh.

"I'm not," I promise her, and her brow relaxes visibly, her intense eyes draining of all of their fury. She's turned away before I can see her expression.

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	4. Friends

_Peeta_

I'm going to have to start school here. The town is nice. The people are nice, if not a little nosy. Katniss is gone nearly everyday, her presence still lingering in Primrose and the house. She smells like roses and smoke, and I can smell it on the couches and in the hallways. Her hair is still a vibrant purple, and her clothes are always clean and orderly. She likes her boots— these calf-high black lace-ups that look worn and almost gray now. I don't know where she goes, but I think she does archery. When she's here, there's a little professional-looking antique bow next to the door.

I want to talk to her, though she's mostly only made small talk with me for the past week. Primrose is all smiles and chatting, and she always wants to talk to me. If only that was Katniss. Mrs. Everdeen is always smiling at me, and I can tell that she's thankful for the extra hands around the house, though her expression is always a little vacant, like her mind is elsewhere.

Today, I want to go into town. Mrs. Everdeen had promised me that I could go, though I'm not sure if she meant alone. Primrose has a summer assignment she has to finish up, and Katniss is gone again— so is her bow. I'm sitting in the living room. It's still gray out and drizzling a little, the curtains drawn like they are in the mornings.

Mrs. Everdeens enters, wiping the crumbs off of a plate from this morning.

"Hello, Peeta," she says with a vacant smile, and I smile weakly in return, still a little groggy.

"Hi," I reply, raising a hand to ruffle my already-crumpled bed head. Mrs. Everdeen begins to turn away, but then stops and grins back at me.

"You wanted to go into town today, right?" she asks, and I nod, a little excitement brewing in my stomach. "Excellent." She pauses, thinking. "Primrose is busy, and I'm washing the dishes… And Katniss…" My heart sinks. Katniss isn't here.

Just at that moment, the door swings open and Katniss steps inside hurriedly, drawing her tan raincoat from her shoulders. Droplets spray off of the fabric like mist as she hangs it up next to the door. She steps to the right of the living room couch to place her bow against the wall and then straightens. She freezes when she sees her mother's face light up.

"There you are!" Mrs. Everdeen exclaims, and Katniss looks uncomfortable. Her hair is pulled back into a long braid, the tip a familiar purple color.

"Here I am," she replies weakly, her mouth in a neutral position. I bite back a snort. Her hands are twisted in the long sleeves of a black crew neck sweater, a collared white blouse peeking out from underneath it. She's wearing dark gray jeans and her faded boots, and I can see from the couch little light purple crystal moon earrings dangling from her lobes. She doesn't look at me.

"I was just thinking about how you could take Peeta into town today," Mrs. Everdeen says rather firmly. Her eyes are on the bowl in her hands and the green cloth that wipes away at the inside. Katniss freezes, her eyes darting momentarily to find mine. She looks even more uncomfortable now, and slightly annoyed.

"I was going to meet Gale and Madge for coffee," she moans, sounding like a complete and utter teenager. Mrs. Everdeen shoots her a look on her way back to the kitchen. Katniss slumps, sighing in defeat. She turns towards me with daggers for eyes, like it's my fault that she can't meet up with her friends.

"Let's go," she says dangerously, though rather quietly. Her looks are venom, her steely gray eyes ripping away from mine back to her raincoat as she takes it down and throws it around her shoulders again. I take my own black one and sling it on over my khakis and blue t-shirt. She's out the door in the flash, not really bothering to leave it open for me. It almost slams in my face. I squeeze out and follow her as she makes her way to the sidewalk. She doesn't have a car? She seems to read my expression.

"I have a car. It's parked across the street." She motions to a beaten-up yellow buggy with rusty silver bumpers. It's nice, though it looks like it's seen better days. I scramble after her to get in on the passenger side.

I climb in as she's starting the car, and I almost bang my head on the ceiling.

"Sorry," she mutters. "It's small." All of her previous anger has basically disappeared, her eyebrows bunched together as she tries to start the car. On the third key turn, it splutters to life. Eerie music pours from the speakers rather loudly, and I jump, hitting my head on the ceiling again.

"Damn it!" I yelp, rubbing my scalp through my blonde hair. I can see the corners of her mouth just twitching upwards the slightest bit as she pulls the car away from the curb and speeds off in the direction of the city. It's like we're in a movie, the trees fading to a small town, and then I can see the skyscrapers in the distance. Even better, she's pulled out a pair of vintage sunglasses from a small compartment overhead and takes her hair down. It looks soft and silky and slightly wavy from it being styled. I want to touch it, my fingers twitching. But she pulls it back up into a ponytail again after adjusting the top of her hair. A little dark piece of hair is caught in one of her moon crystal dangling earrings, and I want to straighten it out, but I hold myself back.

…

We pull into a small cafe, the whizzing of cars nearly shaking our tiny one. District 12 is a big city with lots of people in outfits I would see on those hipster websites. Some people smoked outside of restaurants we had passed, their sunglasses reflecting Katniss's yellow flash of a car.

We climb out, the rain just barely a drizzle still, the sky overhead still a misty-looking gray color. The cars are loud just behind us, and I hurry to the curb in fear of being smushed by the traffic.

Katniss walks confidently up to the cafe doors, holding them open just a little for me. She doesn't look at me, but it makes me feel good that she's waiting. I enter behind her and immediately relax because it's much warmer in here.

The walls are covered in blackboard, the ceiling painted a bright blue color. The blackboard lists menus and coffees and different drinks, also hosting bright, colorful drawings of chalk flowers and swirls and designs. In front of us are some tables and slightly to the right of those is the cashier table where a dwindling line trails. Some of the tables are full, but most of the people in the cafe are on the second landing, where the floor opens up to view us down on the first floor, the stairs up to the top spiraling on the left side. Katniss grins up at the landing, pushing her sunglasses to her head.

"Gale and Madge are on the second landing," she tells me, making her way towards the line.

"I—" I begin, because I still don't know who Gale and Madge are. Katniss raises her eyebrows before her something clicks behind her eyes.

"Gale is my boyfriend. Madge is my best friend." My mouth opens in a silent _o_ at the finality of her tone. She still seems like she wants nothing to do with me, though I'm slowly but surely breaking away her shell, bit by bit. So Gale is her boyfriend. But who is Gale? I peek up to the landing, attempting to find a kid— Maybe lanky or shaggy-haired, or with an abundance of band t-shirts and a skinny frame. I can't see everyone from where I'm standing.

Katniss orders some fancy-sounding drink, but I just order a black coffee. The girl behind the register, Audrey, blushes when I look at her. I can feel my ears heating up when I order a muffin, but Katniss doesn't seem to notice, nor does she seem to care. She orders a bran muffin and takes our number, and then she brushes past me without looking back. I follow her up the stairs and turn right at the top to see a collection of tables trailing across the wooden landing. Couples and people chat, sipping tea and coffee and laughing at jokes I can't hear.

"Kat!" a feminine voice calls, and Katniss makes her way towards a table in the corner. I spin around to see the source of the voice and the people at the table. And Gale. I spot the source of the voice— a mousy-haired, slightly plump, blue-eyed girl wearing a pretty blue blouse waves at Katniss with a grin. Across from her is seated a boy. And then my stomach drops. He turns, the muscles in his back flexing under his shirt. It's a greenish-gray color, almost the same color as his eyes, which flicker and soften when he sees Katniss. He has a sharp jawline and healthy, tanned skin, and dark hair that's a little wavy but is pushed up in the front like the familiar styles of a lot of 17-year-old boys. He's incredibly good-looking, and when he stands, I also notice that he's tall. I feel myself shrinking down.

"Who's this?" Madge pipes up, her eyes glittering as they rest on me. I shift uncomfortably as Katniss takes a seat beside Madge. Which meant that I had to sit next to super-boyfriend Gale.

"Peeta Mellark. The foster kid I told you about." What a lovely title. I squeeze past Gale, whose eyes follow the back of my head. He doesn't move his chair the slightest bit. I see Madge, whose eyes darken just a little. She shoots a look at Katniss that I can't read, and Katniss turns to glance at her. She just barely shakes her head, and Madge relaxes. What…?

Gale seems to understand and turns to me, his hand extended in greeting. I take it and my stomach churns as I realize it feels almost exactly like Katniss's. They were almost perfect for each other.

"Gale Hawthorne," he says in a voice that's dead attractive. I gulp, definitely outshone by this boy.

"Peeta," I squeak as he releases my hand. Her friends look intimidating, countering my sweet-yet-willing-to-fight-when-necessary personality. I gulp. Madge is all sharp looks, though a smile lights up her face, her cheeks now a pristine pink color. Gale's gaze never wavers, his chin raised high and his eyes burning holes through my head. Katniss doesn't seem to notice as she twists a fork into her napkin, staring out of one of the windows on the far side of the cafe. I follow her gaze as I see cars zooming by outside.

"Number 89?" asks a waitress. I nod, and then see that it's Audrey. She hands me my drink and my muffin, her cheeks reddening when my fingers brush hers. _Go away, _I want to say to her auburn hair and green v-neck, but she still has to hand Katniss her food. Gale takes a sip from his mug as Audrey scuttles away. I can feel her eyes on the back of my head. Madge giggles something incoherent to Katniss over the top of her tea mug, and Katniss smiles without teeth. I have yet to see her smile with teeth. Gale doesn't really move, though I can almost feel his testosterone and protectiveness through my mug. The coffee is strong, which is just how I like it, though I almost burn my tongue.

"How do you like District 12?" Madge asks, and I shrug.

"It's nice." Madge nods, opening her mouth to continue. Her lips are pink.

"You should come with us to the— ow!" She's rubbing her arm like Katniss has elbowed her, though Katniss's eyes have never left her mug. She's sipping her coffee, finding a renewed interest in her bran muffin. Madge shoots her a look. Gale shifts beside me. "I was _saying_ that you should come with us to the forest behind Katniss's house." This time, Katniss moves. She sets down her mug, startling me, and speaks quickly.

"You wouldn't like it," she says. I shake my head.

"Why not?"

"It's boring." She sounds like she's trying to escape from the topic. Madge shoots her daggers.

"Well, what do you do?" I press, suddenly wondering why she really doesn't want me to come. Katniss rolls her eyes.

"Climb trees. Have picnics. Girly stuff." Gale huffs beside me, sparking another close-lipped smile from Katniss. Madge elbows her, knocking her muffin from her hand. Katniss sighs, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Okay." She sounds like a reluctant little kid. "You can come." She looks like she's trying to control her annoyance. "Just don't tell Prim, or else she'll want to come, too." I nod eagerly. Katniss's steely eyes are on her mug again. Gale still doesn't move. Katniss looks fed up. Madge looks excited. I brush the crumbs off of my lap, feeling only slightly uncomfortable. Maybe this would be fun.

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	5. Boyfriends

_Peeta_

Katniss and her friends are the type I would expect to sit around cafes and smoke and just not talk to each other, but they're almost the opposite by the time we've reached the edge of the woods. Katniss has let her hair down to sweep across her back and is laughing with Gale as Madge stumbles to keep up, a smile etched across her face. I feel a little left out, but Madge glances back occasionally as if to say, _Hurry up, Peeta!_ I feel a smile growing on my face and stumble after them.

The edge of a meadow morphs into the soft, moist ground of a forest, and then Katniss grows a little quieter, though she still laughs with Gale. Something pangs way down in my stomach. She looks beautiful when she's laughing, and it feeds my want to see her smile with teeth. I want to do everything— hold her, be her friend, maybe even love her. But she's dating Gale, doesn't want anything to do with me, and is way out of my league. She's free, without a care, and reckless. I'm quiet, mature, and afraid of her. I'm afraid she'll reject me or just plain ignore me.

As my emotions tumble in my stomach, she stumbles out of sight. Madge and Gale seem to know where she's gone, and they begin to laugh with each other. I trail behind.

"It's just up ahead," Madge offers as my legs begin to feel like Jell-o. I'm not out of shape in the slightest, but I seem to be stepping on and stumbling over every root that Katniss and her friends seem to avoid. Just as I catch myself from falling over yet again, the tips of Katniss's boots come into my field of vision. I glance up at lose my breath.

She's standing, silhouetted, against an open clearing. The sun still hasn't appeared, and Katniss's gray eyes seem to pop against the gray sky. There's a soft mist trembling over a small pond I notice. The water is gray and stops just beyond her boots. Her smile is almost mischievous.

"Oh, Katniss," Madge sings, surging forward. She spins around, her arms thrown out, taking in the view of the sky with her thirsty eyes. "You remembered." Her eyes are almost completely filled with tears as she glances at Katniss. She envelopes Madge in her arms, her own eyes finding the sky. Gale stands behind Madge, and I'm almost become dizzy from Katniss's sudden affection. My throat bobs.

Gale scoops Katniss up. She's smiling, though it seems vacant as she kisses him. His mouth slants over hers, and her eyes flutter shut. She seems a little distracted, but I feel my cheeks heating up. I avert my eyes, feeling slightly awkward for some reason. Once she's back on the ground, her eyes flicker in my direction. Mine are probably filled with questions.

"We've been friends since we were little." Katniss is suddenly in front of me. I almost smash my face into her, I raise my head so quickly. She doesn't waver, but I step back. Her gray eyes are stolid.

"We have this tradition on coming here. It's where we—" she nods at Gale, who blushes—"Kissed." I feel even more uncomfortable now. She seems to notice, and I can see the tips of her ears turning pink. "It's not a romantic spot or anything. Just a tradition to come here." She turns, and I can see her purple hair long after it's gone.

Gale hollers something and splashes into the water, his pants legs rolled up. Madge rips off her blouse, which startles me. I feel my face reddening, but it tones down just slightly when I realize she's wearing a gray tank top. It bulges a little at her belt, but she's confident as ever, splashing in after Gale, kicking water onto his thighs. He roars in mock anger and splashes her back, arousing a squeal.

"You're not going in?" My words surprise me. Katniss turns to face me, her gray eyes searching my face. I can't read her.

"Too cold. Gale and Madge have always been better with the cold water." She glances up at my eyes. I feel my insides quivering a little under her intense stare. Then her eyes have drifted downward. She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly, she's swept away.

Gale has flung her over his shoulder, and she's laughing and smiling and hollering.

"Put me down, Gale! Damn it, put me down!" She can barely speak over her laughing. Gale just turns like _nope_ and splashes into the water. Katniss's face is half hidden by the hair that hangs in her face, but I can see flashes of her grinning and laughing. I feel myself smiling. Her eyes catch mine once, and her smile wavers, but then invite me to come join them.

Madge jumps up and down, her fists bobbing, a smile alighting her face as Gale pushes in up to his thighs. Katniss squeals like a little girl as he pulls her back upright, her legs twisting around his abdomen. She kisses him there in the middle of the water, holding his face with her hands, a smile dancing across her lips still, her eyes closed. This time I don't feel anything inside of me but a desire to join them. I wade out into the water.

Ah, fuck it.

I'm up to my thighs next to Madge, who's grinning and jumping, and I join her in chanting,

"Dunk her, dunk her, dunk her!" She acknowledges me with a smile as Gale falls forward, enveloping both him and Katniss in the water. She squeals against his mouth, her smile twisting her lips as I see for the first time what it looks like when she's truly happy.

Her smile has snuck up on me.

And it's beautiful.

It's almost what one would call a _real, genuine smile._ Her lips are parted, showing her white teeth. She has a dimple that shows when she grins again, her eyes crinkling. Gale swoops down in the water to kiss her again, and she grasps his face with her hands. He then swoops her out of the water, setting her upright. She's dripping wet and shivering, but laughing and holding onto Gale's hand, facing Madge and me now.

Without warning, Madge swoops in and smashes her mouth to mine, laughing. Gale breaks out into whooping and whistling as Madge breaks away, her face broken by her chortling.

"Look at his face!" she hollers, bending over from laughing so much. Gale hollers something that sounds like,

"Lover boy!" Madge keeps howling with laughter as I feel my face going bright red, a hand rising up to touch my lips. I start laughing, stunned, and then my eyes find Katniss, whose smile is twitching on her face. She notices me looking and straightens it immediately, attempting to laugh with her friends.

Weird.

…

The walk back to her car is quiet. Madge and Gale have driven home in Gale's car. Katniss is still smiling just slightly, her wet feet slapping on the pavement as we approach her buggy up the road. Water droplets dance across the sidewalk, her hair still dripping wet. Her clothes cling to her in a way that I can barely stand. She doesn't look at me, but I look at her. The tips of her hair are a darker purple when they're wet.

She opens the car door and gets inside, sighing happily. I haven't seen her this emotional before, and it's a lovely change. We drive off back towards the house. My eyes are glued to her the entire time.

…

Mrs. Everdeen asked why she was soaking wet, but Katniss just said she went for a swim. I snorted behind her, and Katniss shot my an appreciative smile, which almost made me stop laughing.

I'm in my room, the guest room, now, splayed out on my stomach, sketching her. I can't stop myself, though I know it may seem a little creepy. Her cheekbones are perfect, but I can't quite get her eyes right. They look to cold, so I erase them harshly, frustrated. Just as I'm pressing the pencil to the paper again, the thought of her making my heart flutter, there's a small knock at my door.

I flail, sending my sketchbook flying. I throw it closed and then straighten out, pushing my hair down slightly. Then I cross to the door and open it.

Katniss stands out in the hallway, her hair slightly damp. She's wearing a long, gray skirt that hangs low around her hips and a white, flowery crop top. A thin strip of skin shows just where her abdomen is. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

"Hey." She's rather quiet and seems on edge. In her hands are two mugs of tea. My heart melts at her kind gesture. I nod quickly.

"Hi," I say, and then motion for her to come in. She hands me the mug, her fingers brushing mine. My heart rate speeds up.

She has a boyfriend.

She has a boy.

She has a friend.

Boyfriend.

_Boy. Friend._

She's in my room, standing a little awkwardly in the frame. She glances out into the hallway and then closes the door. Her fingers twitch on the mug, and then she glances at me quickly.

"I'm sorry," she says, and then she falls apart. Her eyes have lost their normal harsh intensity, her lips quivering. My heart feels like it's shattering as I see her break. "I'm sorry." I want to pull her into my arms, but would that be crossing a line? She's just standing by the door, staring at the floor, her lip quivering, her fingers looking like they're going to release the cup at any second.

"What for?" I ask, my voice much softer than I'd intended it to be.

"Everything. Being such an ass to you when you came. I thought you'd be like the last boy." She meets my eyes, hers looking rather moist. "He kissed me. He took advantage of me— of how willing I was to let him kiss me." She looks angry at herself. "I'm sorry." I feel myself melting. "You're not at all like that." Her fingers tighten around the mug as she steps forward. My breath is sucked from my lungs, silence filling the room. She glances up at me.

"It's okay," I manage, because that's I can say with my lungs feeling like crushed accordions. She nods, a smiling lighting up her face. "I'll look out for you." Her smile disappears. Her eyes have darkened.

We're too close.

"You promise?" she asks. It's too soft. I feel like there's some warning flashing in the back of my head.

But I ignore it.

I want to kiss her.

I want to kiss her so badly.

But she pulls back like she's unfazed, waiting for my answer. My head clears.

"Of course," I stammer. My head is still a little fuzzy. Her face breaks out into her beautiful smile. Her grip on the mug has loosened.

"Thank you," she breathes. She looks genuinely grateful. Then she notices my sketchbook. She bends down to pick it up, and my pace speeds up. No. Don't open it. _Please don't._

"You sketch?" she asks, her fingers drifting over the cover. I nod, feeling my cheeks reddening. I gently reach out to take it, but she pulls it away from my grasp, grinning. "I bet you're good." She's opening the cover before I can grab it. I'm horrified. Thank God that the first drawing isn't of her; it's of a tulip. I can hear her releasing a breath slowly. "Oh, my God."

"What?" I stammer nervously. "You don't like it? Oh, God, is it bad?"

"No," she breathes. "It's… Gorgeous." Her gray eyes flicker up to mine. "You're so talented." It strikes home somewhere inside of me, though she looks back at the sketchbook, still unfazed. "Can I keep it?"

"Yes, yes, of course," I stammer through a goofy smile. She rips out the page carefully, revealing the next drawing. She gapes at that one; a sketch of the pond I had doodled earlier. I hear a soft, "Oh, my God." And then she begins to turn the page. I rip the book out of her hands, horrified that she might see my drawing of her. She glances up, surprised, and then grins confidently.

_I'll find out what's in there soon enough, _her smile seems to say. In response, my cheeks betray me and flare red.

She has no idea what she does to me.

"Goodnight, Peeta," she says suddenly, and she's shuffled towards the door, tea forgotten. I watch her gray skirt as it swishes. Her hair is dry.

And I'm so lost.

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	6. Dances

_Katniss_

We call ourselves the Cloud Watchers in secret.

Now that I think about it, it made some sense.

Peeta was a star watcher. My friends and I were the Cloud Watchers.

He's interesting. Broad shoulders, strong arms, but he's always tense, like he's one edge. Just waiting.

He blushes a lot. I don't know why. It makes me a little uncomfortable, but it's probably because he's only been here for a month.

School has started. It's alright, I guess. The same as normal. The only thing that's different is Gale.

He's been acting strangely. He hasn't been returning most of my calls, and he's been more reluctant to accept my offers to hang out more. Madge has been almost the same way. Something's going on, and it's been like this since right after the day we went with Peeta to our spot.

It's September now and much cooler. The leaves have begun to turn browner, the last of spring's breath just whispering before fading out completely. Peeta's my friend, and the tension there was between us on the first few days has simmered out. It's Monday, which is my least favorite day.

Sunlight streams in through my bedroom window. My white sheets increase its intensity, nearly blinding me as I blink my sleepy eyes. The room tilts as I sit up drowsily, and then I glance at my alarm clock.

7:00.

7:00?

7:00!

SHIT!

I scramble out of my white sheets, leaving a billowing cloud of blankets to fly out behind me. My feet bang down onto the wooden floor a little too forcefully, my ankles stinging from the impact. I'm still a little woozy and I barely notice that I'm only wearing my flimsy white Rolling Stones t-shirt and mini pajama shorts. I barrel out into the hallway, still half-asleep, and right as I'm turning to face the bathroom door, I bang into a wall.

"Ow," I mutter into the wall. It smells really good for some reason. Then it's shifted, and I spring back, surprised. It's not a wall. It's _Peeta._ I gape down at my outfit in stunned silence before I glance back up at Peeta. He's blushing furiously, attempting to avert his eyes. He tries to bump past me, but I just end up going the same way he is. I grow more and more frustrated and more and more embarrassed.

"Oh, my God," Peeta is spluttering, his face bright red.

And then I realize he's not wearing a shirt.

I snort out loud, unable to control myself. I almost lose it right there in the hallway with a half-naked Peeta who looks so uncomfortable he may cry.

I just laugh weakly to myself, almost doubling over in my flimsy t-shirt. Peeta pushes past me, his face even redder than before.

"Sorry, sorry, oh, my God, I'm so, so sorry," Peeta almost exclaims, his arms winding around his waist as he finally bumps past me. I feel my face reddening, and I throw myself inside the bathroom. I shut the door with a bang and slump to the ground, my mind subconsciously running over each detail of Peeta's face and his arms and his stomach.

He was _ripped._

_ Shut up, Katniss._

I almost laugh to myself. I pull myself to my feet and make my way to the bathroom sink. My reflection is flushed, my eyes bright despite the visible bags under them at the moment.

How awkward!

I smile to myself at my ridiculous morning and then begin to brush my teeth, hoping to take the taste of embarrassment out of my mouth.

…

I take a seat at the breakfast table in a hurry, still running late, and even more so because of my encounter with Peeta. Prim is already finishing her breakfast, though it looks like Peeta is just beginning his. He meets my eyes momentarily before his are cast away, and I can see his face reddening. Prim just goes on eating. I can feel my eyes sparkling with laughter.

Peeta looks so uncomfortable, so I swallow my eggs and clear my throat. He jumps.

"Peeta, it's fine," I say, turning on a smile as he whips his head up. Prim looks questioningly between us, furrowing her brow.

"Of course they're fine. They're mom's eggs," Prim says, confused. I shake my head, ignoring her for the moment. She returns to her eggs.

"Really, Peeta." I smile at him just to show that everything's fine. He finally smiles back gratefully, though the blush is still plainly visible on his face. He goes back to eating, the tension released from his broad shoulders. I glance at the clock quickly, and my stomach drops. We _are_ going to be late. I shovel the rest of my food into my mouth, and Peeta, seeing me, does the same. Prim notices and stands to grab her things. I do the same, and just as we're filing out the door, I reach back inside to grab my phone and headphones. The drive to school is one I'd rather fill with AM and Rolling Stones songs.

We file into my yellow buggy; Prim in the back, Peeta in the front. I start it after a few tries and pull away from the curb, plugging my phone into the car jack.

AM blasts out at once at a volume that was only appropriate when I was with Gale.

Gale.

His name makes me feel sad for some reason. I wonder what's going on with him?

I lower the volume as Peeta cringes and change the song. One of my favorites spills out of the speakers, and I grin. Pulling my sunglasses out of their compartment, I slide them on. I reach to turn up the volume, but I'm slapped away by Peeta.

"No!" he shouts, laughing. "It's loud enough!" I grin and reach out for the volume again. He slaps my hand away again.

As I pull out of our neighborhood, I catch him off guard and turn up the volume at lightning speed. My hand darts out too sharply, though, and the volume spikes incredibly. Prim screams in the back, and Peeta just laughs. I burst out laughing as well, and turn the volume down slightly. Peeta turns it down a little more after that.

We pull into our school, which is a high school and middle school. Prim is out of the car in a flash, probably still traumatized by her early morning deafening experience. I can hear Peeta laughing softly.

I park my car in the student parking lot and then we get out. Peeta isn't as nervous as he was last week, which is good. High school could be a freaky place, but he seems to be handling it pretty well, taking into consideration the fact that this one is probably his twentieth school or something.

"Thanks for driving," Peeta says as we're walking towards the school. I'm taken aback by the comment, but I smile. Didn't I drive him everyday?

"You're welcome," I say in reply. A smile grows on Peeta's face.

The day is slow, like any other. AP History is a drag, with Mr. Holly taking as much time as he possibly can. Calculus Honors is just as slow. Our normally energetic teacher Mrs. Octavia is incredibly as un-energetic as possible. The only highlight is Mr. Cinna in drama. He's always great.

His dark, short-cropped hair glints in the stage lights as he creeps across in his black stage outfit. One gold earring twinkles in his ear. His eyes are lined with golden eyeliner, which one would think no one could possibly pull off, but somehow he does it.

He looks like poetry.

He's dark and magnetic, but at the same time he's full of life and sparkling. He's basically the art of theater in itself. All of us are mesmerized instantly from our stadium seats as we slowly begin to watch the first steps of the Tango.

That night, I plug my phone into my speaker jack and find the same song Mr. Cinna had used for the Tango. The music flutters, incredibly mysterious, and I step in time to the music. Then, on the right count, I begin to dance the way he taught us to today. I don't have a spare partner, however, so I just dance with the open air instead.

My carpeted floor is a good surface for my white socks. My long, dark skirt brushes the floor and my legs, like little clouds tickling my skin. My white crop top with cap sleeves is comfortable and flexes with my body, and as I bend, a little strip of stomach is revealed. As I spin, my hair floating across my face, I take note that my ends are fading. Hmm.

Just as I'm ducking down in my invisible partner's arms, imagining a handsome face and nice shoulders, my door creaks. I whip upright immediately and storm over to the door.

"Prim," I warn, and the door creaks a little more right before I throw it open. Instead of Prim, however, I find Peeta standing there. And he's laughing.

"Shut up!" I scowl, and he just smiles at me. I feel my face reddening, knowing how ridiculous I must have looked with an invisible dance partner. "Just shut up!" Peeta just keeps smiling. His blue eyes twinkle.

"You're good," he notes, and I feel like hissing at him. Could I? When I don't say anything, Peeta grins. "Want me to dance with you?" I freeze. Could I? I glance back at my room momentarily, the music drifting to an end. I don't want it to go.

Rolling my eyes, I grab his arm and pull him into my room, shutting the door behind him.

"Sorry, Alejandro, I'm stealing your dance partner," Peeta says to a space beside me. He winks. I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"His name is Alejandro?" I ask, and Peeta shrugs, grinning. I start the song over, feeling Peeta's eyes on the back of my head. Once it's started up again, I quickly teach him how to hold me before we're counted in.

"Here and here," I mutter, placing us into the correct position. His hands are feverishly warm. Then the music cues us, and I make my movements more clear. He's a quick learner, following my steps. He knows when to hold me and when to catch me. I look up at him incredulously.

"How did you learn how to dance?" I ask, genuinely surprised and curious. He just blushes.

"I took swing classes at my last school," he admits, ducking his head. He turns me quickly, my hair fluttering across his cheek.

"Wow," I breathe as he dips me. The song's reaching the greatest part in my opinion, and I turn my hips into a flurry of dark fabric. Peeta grabs my hands, and I open my mouth to tell him to pull me in. But before I can say anything, he's pulled me close to him.

"How did you—?" I begin, but Peeta shakes his head. The music drifts somewhere in the background, and he's still holding me. His arms are strong. His eyes have found mine, and we're frozen. I feel myself drifting into a daze. His eyes are really nice.

But it's too long. I shake myself away from him, clearing my head.

"The hold isn't that long," I tell him, my brow furrowing. He doesn't say anything. The music ends, and I'm a flurry as I'm pulled into the dip in a rush to end the dance. Then I stop my shuffle on my phone and turn to Peeta. He's smiling a little, but he looks like his mind is elsewhere.

"Thanks for dancing with me," I tell him. I'm trying to sound serious. Peeta's eyes flicker up. Something flashes in them suddenly, but I don't know what it is. It's gone before I can figure it out.

"No problem," Peeta says, and I open the door for him. He's out in the hallway now. "Any time you need a dance partner, just call."

"How did you know to pull me in?" I ask. The question had been burning at the back of my mind the entire rest of the dance. Peeta looks pensive, and I'm puzzled as to why he needs to think.

"I didn't," he says. "Goodnight." And then I've closed the door. What?

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	7. Kisses

**Check out the fanart for this story in my profile!**

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_Peeta_

Something's different.

It's nearly October, and it's getting colder.

It's not the weather that's different.

It's Katniss.

I don't know what's wrong, but she's stopped talking for a while. We haven't talked much since that night.

_That night. _It sounds like something much dirtier than it is. But it's not bad. It's not dirty.

I think I may like her. I think I may have feelings for her.

It's all very confusing, all bundled up inside of me. I want to say something, maybe hint something. But she's Gale's and he's hers. But that's where I'm even more confused.

Something's wrong between her and Gale. And today isn't the best day for them. Because I know that she knows something.

She didn't go to school today. I asked Mrs. Everdeen, and she said Katniss had just been extremely weak this morning. I snuck past her room and heard her crying.

The sound broke my heart.

I want to go in there. I want to know what's wrong. I want to help.

And so, three hours later, I find myself standing outside of Katniss's door, my back as tense as a coil of wire, the stifling sobs coming from the other side of the stained wood obstacle shattering my every bone.

I raise one hand. I lower it. I raise it again and attempt to knock. It's feeble, and the sobs on the other side immediately are hushed. When I don't knock again, they slowly come back. I punch myself inwardly, try to mutter all of the courage I have in me, and I knock again. Hard.

The sobs disappear. There's a patter of feet, a great sniffle right on the other side, and the door's cracked open an inch. A steely gray eye peers out at me, and my insides wither before I remember why I'm here.

"Katniss," I begin, reaching up to touch the frame of the door. She shudders on the other side and pulls it closed a little.

"What do you want?" She doesn't really ask it like it's a question. She demands to be left alone. Her one eye flashes dangerously. My hand flutters down to my side.

"I—er…" I trail off. Her one eye loses its daggers for a moment before the energy is sparked back up. Courage shoots through me. Her lips appear, if only half of them, and half of her tanned, freckled nose is in sight, too. She's lost most of her anger, though now she's just impatient. "I…"

"You want to know what happened?" She's dangerously quiet. I grab onto the doorframe to keep my balance as she swings the door open suddenly. And she's an inch away. Maybe even less. Her warm breath fans across my face, though I can hear each ragged one. Her eyes are already brimming with tears. "You want to know?" she whispers, and I feel like saying _no_, though my head nods _yes. _Katniss leans forward, her steely gray eyes finding their anger again.

"What?" I whisper, my heart speeding up to a gallop. It's a wonder that she can't hear it from how close she stands to me. Katniss's expression darkens and then the warmth of her is gone. She's backed away.

"Am I not good enough?" She's back in the doorway. I feel a tug in my gut. Gale. "He kissed her." Something shatters inside of me, and something does in Katniss, too. She's crying now. "He _kissed _her." Though I know the answer, I ask anyways.

"Who? Who did he kiss?" I mutter. _Peeta kissed Katniss._ The thought is there for a moment and gone in a flash. Katniss's eyes lift to mine, and I feel like crying myself. I can't see anything except for rash, unfeigned hurt. Doubt. Self-hatred.

"Madge. Gale and Madge." She's begun to close the door, unable to hold back her sobs. They come out as she freezes in mid-slam, racking her body, making her once-mighty frame incredibly small. She's shrinking before my very eyes. "I didn't know he loved her!" She's so small I want to hold her. I want to hold her. I can't stand it any longer.

I bend down to crouch next to her, and the next thing I know, I'm holding her. Her sobs fade to a shudder, a cough, a hiccup as I rock her in my arms.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the top of her head. She doesn't say anything. Her gray eyes are trained on the floor.

"I suspected it," she whispers, her voice a little stuffy. I can feel wetness on my arm as one of her tears splashes onto it. "They didn't talk to me after that day I took you to our spot." She shudders and I hold her tighter. She smells like she always has. Smoke and flowers and freedom. Right as I'm opening my mouth to reassure her some more, she turns around.

"Let's go," she mutters. I whip my head down to look at her, my eyebrows raising.

"What?" I start, but Katniss shakes her head.

"Let's run away. Hell, let's go anywhere. I hate everyone and everything right now except for you, Peeta." Her desperation morphs into a bitter laugh. "Funny how I started off hating you a little over a month ago and now I'm begging you to run away with me. I don't even know you." The last bit stings, though I keep holding on.

"Of course you know me," I push, though I'm met with a fierce glance from Katniss.

"You don't even know my favorite color," she laughs, and snot spews from her nose. That makes me laugh and her blush as she covers her face.

"Orange," I tell her between chuckles, and she removes her hand.

"Green." Her sobs have left completely now as she peers up at me, gathered in my arms. Her white dress is a nice compliment to her hair, though I notice that the purple ends are beginning to fade. The long garment pools around her feet and across my lap as we sit on the ground, her enveloped in my arms, peering up at me.

"Music?" I ask, and she smiles through some stray tears.

"Rolling Stones. Arctic Monkeys. Panic at the Disco. Alternative things." Her gaze wanders off past me. "You?"

"I don't have time for music," I tell her, and she turns back to me questioningly. "I'm too busy rescuing damsels in distress." She reaches up, and for a moment it looks like she's going to hold my face. My heart speeds up immediately, but then she brings it down, slapping my arm. "Ow!"

"I'm _not_ a damsel in distress," she says stubbornly, and I laugh. Her nose crinkles when she smiles. It's silent as we stare at each other, our smiles fading away gradually. I subconsciously feel myself drawing her up in my arms, my head tilting to the side and then…

She's sprung out of my arms, backing away towards her bed. My heart jumps and I want to yell at her.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, but she just shakes her head.

"Nothing," she replies. "You were holding me for too long." _What?_ She blushes instantly and then shake her head. "Sorry, I meant that I got a little awkward all of a sudden." She clears her throat, staring at the floor. Is she… Shy?

All of my emotions flood from my body as she meets my eyes again, her gaze steeling something inside of me. And I know what it is.

It's want. And it's clear as day.

She's beautiful. She's close. She's fierce. She's stubborn.

And I want her to be mine.

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	8. Moonlight

_Peeta_

I'm so angry. So angry that I feel as if I'm going to explode.

_Gale. _What a name for someone who is such an asshat.

I want to smack him to the end of the earth. I want to break his neck. I want to wring his arms until they turn red. I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him for hurting Katniss. I hate him for breaking her down and tearing her apart. When I saw her gray eyes, I knew something was broken behind them.

And here I am, standing with my nose inches away from Katniss's closed bedroom door only a few moments after she's closed it.

And I'd been holding her.

I can still feel the fabric of her dress between my fingers, her hairs trailing against my cheek. She had pulled away and jumped back all too quickly. I knew I'd been rash, making it way too obvious that I had a thing for her. She's probably noticed. I can feel my face reddening at the thought.

It was in that dance we did, too. I hadn't wanted to pull away. I could hold onto her forever if she would let me. I think I had made it too plain obvious for her to see that I had feelings for her. That tango didn't help in the slightest. I can still feel her hip against my hand, my other sweaty palm clasped against her warm, dry one.

Something stirs in my stomach as I picture her steely gray eyes, and then there's an even better feeling even lower than that.

_Get it together, Peeta._

I inhale slowly through my nose as her freckled nose flashes in my vision. Then my mind betrays me, and her lips are on mine, her chapped lips wanting to taste every inch of my mouth, her hands winding in my hair.

I bring my hand down on the wall so hard that it stings, and I can hear Katniss's footsteps approaching the door. She opens in cautiously, her eyes ringed with red as I hop around, attempting to look nonchalant through the pain of my hand.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and I almost feel guilty that she's concerned about me when she's just barely gotten over a breakup.

"Yeah, fine," I hiss through gritted teeth. She smiles a little, though it seems forced.

"What are you still doing out here?" she asks, and my head spins dizzyingly. What _am_ I still doing out here?

"Um…" My hand instinctively finds the hair on the nape of my neck, twirling it around and around. "Just… Thinking."

"Oh," Katniss says, a smile playing at her lips. "What of?" I feel my ears growing hotter right before I decide what I'm actually thinking of and what I want to say to her.

"Just you," I say before I can stop myself. Katniss's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and I immediately realize how perverted that sounded. "I mean, just this situation," I splutter, my body finding the wall to lean against. I almost slip, and I flail before finding solid ground again. Katniss snorts.

"Me?" Her smile is amused, the corners of her mouth twitching only a little. I almost groan.

"The situation," I argue over her smugness. "I want to protect you. That's all." Katniss's smile fades altogether, her eyebrows dropping down to set. She's unamused, and I can feel the ice in her glare. I shudder. Hell, she can be scary sometimes.

"Protect me?" she spits. "I don't need protection, Peeta." Of course you don't. You're hella scary all on your own. I know I need to fix this.

"I just mean…" I run my fingers through my hair quickly, pulling at a stray curl nervously. "I just want to be there for you. I want to be your friend." And then, just like that, her small smile has returned, and I'm seeing celebratory fireworks in my head.

It's true. I want to be her friend. I want to protect her. I want to start like this.

Katniss leans against the doorframe, the soft fabric of her white dress pressed against her sides. I glance down momentarily, instantly reminded of that awkward day in the hallway when I'd bumped into her, half-naked.

She's pretty hot in the morning.

_Shut up, Peeta._

"What?" Katniss looks confused, straightening against the frame. I freeze, realizing I've said the last part out loud.

"Nothing," I reassure her, shaking my head. Katniss exhales slowly and glances somewhere behind me, and then back to the frame of the door. She picks at it halfheartedly. I notice her purple nail polish has chipped off.

"So, friends, right?" she asks, her eyes trailing up to meet mine. I feel a breath leave my parted lips softly, and I can't control my face as a smile spreads across it.

"Friends," I assure her, and I almost hold out my hand for her to shake. She smiles a little before backing into her room, her dress fluttering across her legs. Her hair floats in the wind from the force of her door as she closes it softly.

I slump against the wall and exhale rather loudly before inching back towards my room. It isn't very far from Katniss's, and now that I think about it, I'm the closest person in this house to her. Her mother's room is at the very end of the hall near the stairs, and Prim's room is next to mine. But my room is across from Katniss's. The thought makes my stomach flutter a little.

That night, it takes a while for me to get sleepy. Just when I'm starting to fall asleep, something always pops into my mind, and then I have to start all over again. This time, it's Katniss.

Her chapped lips. Her wild, long hair that she sometimes twists into a messy, long braid. Her small constellation of freckles that dots her nose. The way her skirts hang on her hips.

My mind betrays me for the second time today, and she's in my arms again, her lips meeting mine with a fury so fierce that I reel back in bed, taken aback by the thoughts speeding through my mind. Everything's on fast forward, and all I can feel are her arms and the fabric of her clothing, and everything turns into smoke and flowers and steely, solid gray.

I shake my head furiously, trying to clear it of its fog. I swallow dryly, suddenly wide awake. I need a distraction. I get up to get a drink of water, my hand resting on the doorknob. I'm met with cool air as I push it open, and my feet pat softly against the soft carpet of the walkway as I step out.

Just as I'm attempting to turn to the staircase, I hear a thump. I freeze.

A thousand different scenarios whisk through my mind. I can feel my heart thudding faster and faster, my palms beginning to sweat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as another _thump_ erupts from across the hall, rather loud for being behind a wall.

It's coming from Katniss's room.

I make my way to her door, and, sure enough, there's a chorus of _thumps_ followed by a gasp and a chorus of scared muttering. I open the door quickly to find a flurry of white sheets and pillows.

Katniss is thrashing violently, her eyes shut tightly, her arms gripping the sheets.

She's having a nightmare.

I rush over to her bed to wake her, my hands pulling at her arms, begging for her to wake up.

Her eyes fly open and then grow even wider when they notice me standing there. A bark of surprise escapes her lips, and I involuntarily reach down to shush her. Her lips brush against my fingers, sending a harsh, warm spark of electricity dancing up my arms.

"You were having a bad dream," I tell Katniss. Her gray eyes, once wild with fear, relax and then darken.

"I know," she says quietly. Her eyes drift off to her window, where the curtains are pulled aside and the moons shines down onto the sheets. The light casts a shadow across her face, so when she turns, I can't see her eyes.

"Are you alright?" I ask, unsure about what to say. Katniss nods very slightly, still not turning to look at me.

"It was Gale," she says simply, and then she sucks in a shuddering breath. "It's stupid. I have these stupid dreams where he, like, kills Prim. They're horrible. They're so, so horrible. And then, recently, I've been having those as well as ones of him with Madge. They're awful to me." Her throat bobs before I realize that she's crying silently. One tears traces her cheekbone, making its way to her chin before it drops onto her sheet. It leaves a little shadow there.

"Hey, hey, hey," I mutter, resting on the sheets beside her. Her body tenses up before she leans in. Her body heat mingles with mine as she rests her head on my chest, and I hold her. I hold her for I don't know how long, her breaths eventually smoothing out while mine are unsteady. I don't trust my heartbeat, which is irregular and loud and pounding quickly. But she doesn't seem to notice as she looks up at me. Her eyes are moonlight.

"Thank you," she breathes, and my eyes find her lips. They're perfect and full, chapped and tanned like the rest of her. I want to lean in so badly to close the distance, but a small Peeta in the back of my mind slaps me into reality. "I'm sorry." Katniss pauses as I open my mouth to object. "You're a better friend than I ever thought I would deserve, Peeta Mellark." And just like that, my breath is whisked away by her muttering my full name.

That's how lost I am.

Katniss's eyes twinkle like stars as they glitter with unshed tears. She quickly blinks them away, and I feel like crying myself. She's so beautiful.

"Hey," Katniss says quietly.

"Hmm?" I ask, drawing her closer. Her shoulders tense at the deeper contact, but then slowly relax.

"There's a school bash for us next week," Katniss starts. Excitement buzzes in me.

"I know," I push, though I can feel myself blushing.

"Do you want to go with me? I really don't want to go alone with Gale there with Madge or something…" She trails off, unable to finish her sentence. I can hear the hurt in her voice, and I quickly nod.

"Of course," I tell her. "That's what friends do." She glances up at me quickly before her eyes rest on her sheets. She smiles a small smile. It emanates gratefulness.

"Goodnight, Peeta Mellark."

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	9. Bashes

**Sorry for the wait! I was on vacation. Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

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_Katniss_

Tonight is the beachside bash for our high school. I've mustered up enough courage to attend, even though I had broken up with Gale only last week.

I didn't know he loved Madge.

All this time, I thought he'd loved me. He's even begged for my forgiveness over the phone. It had sounded like he was crying, but of course I didn't believe him.

At least Madge had enough moral to actually tell me Gale had kissed her, unlike my ex-boyfriend who probably would have never told me.

"Katniss, it was an accident!" Over and over again.

I was done.

I'm half hoping he won't be at the bash tonight. It's supposed to be fun, though I don't understand how it'll be "beachside" if the beach is over an hour's drive from where inner District Twelve is. Maybe it'll just be some crappy plastic palm trees and untalented hula dancers.

In other news, Peeta has a girlfriend. Her name is Delly, and she's incredibly pretty, though I don't know her very well. Apparently she had asked him out after being his parter in their Chemistry class, which I find slightly ridiculous. She's supposed to be nice, too, though I figure she's probably as smart as a loaf of bread.

I'm embarrassed to be around him recently. After the whole crying stint last week, I feel like I look weak and am one to be taken care of. But I don't want to be. I need to be tough. And no one like Peeta or Gale should ever make me feel any less.

Peeta's been my closest friend ever since that night. Our little agreement to protect each other really has affected me— we're closer than I'd imagined we'd be. And recently, as my nightmares have gotten worse and worse, he's been there more and more often.

I can tell he's nervous for the bash; it's probably because Gale will be there. He may think that he does a good job of hiding it, but I know that he can't stand Gale. I haven't heard what he thinks of Madge anymore.

My mother has been nagging me since this morning, and now that school's over for the day, she's nagging me again about buying a stupid dress.

"Katniss, it'll look nice," she pleads. Like hell it'll look nice. Fancy dresses always look like crap on me. I prefer plain ones over dressy ones.

"Mom, I don't want to wear one like those," I scoff, pointing in sheer disgust at the glittering prom-like ones on her laptop screen. My mom huffs in frustration and shuts the laptop quickly, causing me to jump.

"Katniss, I don't know what to say to you," she says, a little angrily. She's been pretty tense these last couple of days. "But I do know you're not going out to the bash like that. It's a nice party and your friends will be there." She motions to my outfit, which consists of olive-colored pants and a collared black top. Silver bangles ring out as they shift when I lift my hand up self-consciously to play with my hair. The purple ends are almost invisible, revealing a sickly mousy brown-bleached color. I need to fix them.

"Fine," I scoff, tired of arguing. I throw my hands up in frustration as I stomp up the stairs. "I'm not coming with you!" I holler, and I can hear my mother's grunt of annoyance from the second landing. There's a patter of hollow footsteps and then the door slams. I release a breath, gliding down the hallway to my room.

Just as I'm passing Peeta's room, the door flies open, almost catching my arm in the process. Peeta jumps out, looking rather wild.

"Oh, God, sorry, Katniss," he huffs, immediately freezing at the sight of me flying three feet away like a frightened cat. I slink back towards him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. "Sorry, I'm just frustrated."

"So am I," I reply, and Peeta shifts, tugging at his shirt. It's a lovely baby blue color and fits him nicely. "But I like the shirt."

"Really?" He sounds almost out of breath, raising one eyebrow. "That's why I'm frustrated." He disappears inside of his room for a moment, and I shift my weight to one hip, crossing my arms over my chest. He reappears a second later, unfolding a shirt with a darker shade of blue; the color of his eyes. I smile a little and point to the second one.

"That one. They're both nice, but I like that one better." Peeta contemplates this for a moment, and then nods.

"You're right," he says, and almost turns before he asks me, "Why are you frustrated?" I sigh, shifting my weight to my other hip.

"My mom's making me wear a dress." Peeta raises another eyebrow.

"But you wear dresses sometimes. That white one— I mean, it's the only one I've ever seen you wear so far." I snort.

"Not that kind of dress, stupid. That's, like, a t-shirt dress. I mean an actual dress, glitter and all," I argue. Peeta laughs, his eyes twinkling as he leans against his door frame.

"Well, I'm sure it'll look nice," he says. I roll my eyes.

"I don't want to wear one," I argue, setting my jaw. Peeta just smiles.

"Why not?" His eyes glitter.

"Because… Because they're stupid!" I splutter. Peeta laughs, resting his head against the wood of the frame.

"Too girly?"

"Sure," I spit back, turning to go to my room. When I get to my frame, he's still staring. "What?" I ask, sounding annoyed, though I can feel a smile coming on. He looks ridiculous with a goofy grin plastered across his sharp features.

"Nothing," he laughs, shaking his head. And then he's back into his room, his eyes trained on the darker blue t-shirt in his hands.

I close my door and make my way over to my bed. It lets out a familiar whooshing sound as I fly down onto it. I lie there for a few moments, my fingers tracing circles into the soft, white linen before I remember my hair. I spring up, glancing at my clock. I still have time before my mom gets back, and I have to time to fix my hair.

I pull open my dresser drawer, spotting my familiar packets that never seem to run out. This time, I choose an icy blue color; it's different than the deeper sapphire-like blue I had on before. This one is light and beautiful, like the reflection of the sky on a frosted pond.

In a few minutes, my bathroom windows are fogged up with the steam from the running hot water. I glance up for a moment, my ends still setting, and see nothing but smudgy, moist glass. I spot the place where my head would be and draw a small smiley face there. My finger lingers on the glass, the lines dripping where I've paused for too long.

I'll be that tonight. I'll be happy.

I finish up my hair and dry it carefully, letting it drip until there's nothing left to run. Then I sit in the sun and towel it off, the icy blue color rubbing away at my towel. I don't mind. All of my towels have recently become individual rainbows.

I stand once my hair is dry and take off my socks, stretching my toes and rolling my ankles. My legs stretch out in front of me, my back to my furthest bedroom wall as bright sunlight streams in through one of the windows in the beginning of the new twilight. It will be dark in a few hours, and then I'll be at the bash, hopefully having a fun time.

As I'm pushing off of the wall to stand up, my mother comes home. I hear the slam from the front door, much calmer than when she left, so I make my way downstairs. My feet pad reluctantly on the staircase as I round the corner to the kitchen.

My mom is surrounded by a forest of grocery bags. As soon as I drink in the scene, I turn on my heels and try to exit as quickly as I can without being noticed. But before I can even get to the first step, she's seen me.

"Katniss!" She's almost singing. Uh-oh.

"Yes?" I groan, spinning back around on my heels slowly, reluctant to face her. She motions to the bags, and one big one in particular catches my eye. It's from a fancy store for teenagers, and I know what's in it. I can just sense it. My mom catches sight of my hair, and instead of giving me a neutral smile like she always does, her eyes light up.

"Oh, Katniss! I'm actually glad you dyed your hair that color!" she exclaims, and I cringe. What have I done? My mom reaches over to the expensive bag and rummages through it. I hear tissue paper crinkling as she whisks out a complex-looking dress.

The top is a soft black part with nice sleeves that separate near the top of the sleeve and meet again at the cuff. It looks like something a fairytale princess would wear. The skirt part is a nice gray color, and it looks majestic and loose, fluttering around as she holds it. It isn't polyester, I notice, as I take it into my hands. It's soft, like a stretchy t-shirt.

"You'll love it!" my mother almost squeals. She pauses, admiring her work, before she jumps again. I almost jump, too. "Oh! Almost forgot!" She fishes through her bag again before pulling out a choker. I almost stare at it. It's so beautiful that I forget my dress completely, even though it's not a bad choice at all.

It's an icy blue moon that glitters in the light strung onto a tight black cord. Each little cut into the moon sparkles as it dances, swinging through the air. I immediately reach out to grab it, and my mother eagerly hands it to me, smug.

"Thanks," I mutter before retreating to my room. And I really am thankful. The dress is actually beautiful, and the choker is so elegant that I want to cry.

Just as I'm rounding the corner, Peeta's door opens. I almost jump away instinctively before he pokes his head out. He's grinning, though he won't open his door all the way as I walk over. His eyes rest on the pile in my arms.

"Beautiful," he notes, and I can't tell if he's referring to the dress or the choker. It'd be the same either way.

"I'd have to give credit to my mom," I admit, shifting the bundle into the crook of my arm. Peeta laughs.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," he says with a smile. He meets my eyes, and all I can see is blue, blue, blue.

"Me neither," I counter as I push towards my room. Peeta catches my arm with his hand, and I spin around towards him.

"Be ready in an hour," he says, like it's some sort of date. And like we don't live in the same house.

"Of course, your lordship," I shoot back, feeling my brow furrow. "If I'm not out by then, don't come in." Peeta laughs softly behind me as I close my door and throw my things onto the bed. I peer down at the contents my arms had been holding only a few moments ago.

The dress really is beautiful, I think. It's the perfect shape for me, I notice as I hold it up against the soft light peeking in through my window. Without a sound, I slip off my current attire and pull the dress over my head, and then I turn to glance at my reflection.

Steely eyes too gray to be my own shock me as I realize how much the dress brings out the color. My tanned, olive arms shine in the dimming light, my legs looking longer than they ever have. The black and gray fabric slides effortlessly over my skin as I turn to admire it, the dress pinching in my curves in all the right places.

In a small rush, I reach for my brush and run my hair through until there aren't any tangles. The icy blue stands out beautifully against the black and gray, and as I pick up my darling choker, I pause to admire it. The gem catches the light and glitters, winking back at me as I reach up to fasten it around my neck. I turn back with it adorned on my neck, almost smiling at my reflection in my mirror.

I look delicate, older, beautiful, confident. My hair is even behaving and isn't its usual long, shaggy mess. It shines along with my choker.

My shoes are my most trusted pair— all-black converse, the tips just scuffing and the fabric just beginning to pull away from the rubber. I know Mom probably won't approve, but maybe she'll be in one of her distant moods and won't notice.

Finished, I sit down on my bed. I know that Peeta won't come knocking for a little while, so I decide to maybe try on some makeup.

The eyeliner fails horribly on my left eye, so I wipe it off with the back of my hand and try again. It looks better the second time I apply it. It's not thick and dark like other times I've tried it on, but rather in a thin line, just swooping a little at the ends. It looks elegant.

Afterwards, I even try on mascara. I'm just finishing my left eye when someone—Peeta— knocks on the door. I jump, the mascara wand just barely missing my eye. I cap it quickly and throw it aside, then approach the door and open it, slightly nervously.

"Hel— oh," Peeta says, his greeting dropping into a lower octave. His smile disappears from his face as his eyes drag slowly across my getup. I can feel my cheeks flaming uncomfortably as he inspects my choker, my face.

"Uh, hi," I say, and Peeta just looks at me. Is my outfit too much? "Is it too much?" I whisper before I can stop myself. Peeta snaps out of his little reverie and shakes his head rather violently, his cheeks on fire.

"No, no, no, it's, um, great," Peeta says. "I like the dress." I feel my stomach flipping a little, and then I notice Peeta's outfit.

He's wearing the blue shirt we agreed on and well-ironed khakis. The shirt makes his eyes pop, which contrasts well with his flushed face and handsome face. His hair curls down near the base of his necks, the soft waves shiny and soft-looking. My hands itch at my sides to ruffle his perfect hair.

"Wow," I tell him. "You look great." I mean it. Peeta's blush grows deeper on his cheekbones, and I want to laugh. He gets embarrassed so easily!

"Thanks," he stammers, and then there's a small, awkward silence where we just stare at each other's clothing. Peeta's blush continues to blossom, and I shift, my converse accidentally squeaking loudly on the floor. That seems to shake Peeta awake again.

"Let's go!" he announces regally, offering his arm to me. I stick mine through his, but he glances down and shakes his head. "Put your elbow further back. Like your hand is just resting at the crook of my elbow." I do so, but then raise an eyebrow.

"Where did you learn to be all fancy, foster boy?" I ask, and Peeta shrugs.

"I took dancing lessons, remember?"

We make our way down the stairs, but before we step into the kitchen, I pull my arm away, too embarrassed to let Mom or Prim see. Peeta looks a little deflated, but he puffs right back up again once Prim sees us. She lets out a shriek that slices straight through my eardrums, her two braids bobbing as she races up to inspect us.

"OH MY GOD!" she squeals, and I reach out blindly in an attempt to silence her. She dodges my arms to get to Peeta, who's laughing, his blue eyes crinkling. Prim looks him over once as I flail silently, and then she throws her arms around him.

"YOU LOOK SO GOOD!" she screams into his chest, and Peeta just looks up at me and laughs, his white teeth flashing, a small dimple in his chin showing. His strong jawline just makes him look so utterly handsome, and I wonder how beautiful his parents must have been.

"She loves you," I mouth to him with a small smile, and he laughs harder, his face turned to me while Prim buries her face into his shirt. I feel myself laughing, though I try to stop.

"Prim, you're going to wrinkle his shirt," I say pointedly in between giggle. Prim draws back instantly, horrified, and jumps off of Peeta like he's a snake. That makes Peeta laugh harder, but he smooths down the front of his shirt. My mom approaches next, and I see a flash of silver in her hand. Before I can register what it is, she's already holding it in front of her face. I see her pushing the button in slow motion.

"Mom!" I protest, and the camera snaps as she takes a picture. "Oh, my God!" My face goes bright red, and I can see that Peeta's blush is creeping back into his face, but he smiles nonetheless. "This isn't prom!" My mother just smiles and takes another, and I rush to cover my face with my hands.

"Put your arm around her," my mother instructs, but I shake my head dramatically.

"Not. Prom," I say through gritted teeth, but Peeta, who respects my mom, already has snaked an arm around my waist. I sigh, defeated and unwilling to draw his arm away.

"Smile!" my mother calls out, and I do, though it feels plastered on. As soon as she's put the camera away, I step out of Peeta's embrace, still embarrassed.

"Shall we go?" Peeta asks after an almost unnoticed pause. I nod with a small smile creeping across my face at the sight of his flushing face— he must never have gone with a girl to something before.

"Of course, my lord." Peeta elbows me.

* * *

**I'm at the-star-trekker (d0t) tumblr (d0t) com**


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